


A Touch Of Magic

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Walking Yggdrasil [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Play, Asgardian Magic, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Dom Natasha, Dom/sub, F/M, Loki Feels, Rimming, Sub Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: It's not easy to be the playthings of fate or work magic. Or try to find a place within the Avengers when he initially wanted to destroy them.





	

Wanda was able to manipulate energy and thoughts, and could be creative with how she wielded the energies around her. She was even able to levitate and fly after a fashion. Loki didn't want to be impressed with how much she was able to teach herself, even without a classical education or influence from others with _seidr._ It was much easier to be horrified, and that wasn't even a stretch of the imagination, either. Her methods for spell crafting were atrocious, no discipline whatsoever, and she just "figured out what worked" and kept repeating it.

Of course, magic users always started out that way, but he still found himself horrified by the graceless way she gathered energy to cast even the simplest of spells. There was no need for such theatrics unless she _wanted_ to be obvious in her somatic gestures, but usually magic could be discreetly cast without so much expenditure of energy.

She flushed a little as he assessed her skills. "You don't have to be so cruel in how you speak to me," she huffed, chin lifting up a notch. Still, he could see the suspicious shine to her eyes, and it reminded him of Natasha's warning.

"I have no temperament for teaching," Loki said, hoping she would take it as an apology. She didn't, he could see that, and sighed. "Whyever did my br—did Thor insist on this?"

The way she looked at him, sympathy and scorn at once, burned his gut. Loki knew not to show his emotions, but oh, how he _itched_ to put this girl in her place.

Collecting her energies into a ball in her hands, she held it suspended in front of her in answer to his question. "This is how I craft a spell. He has seen me fight, and I have saved him from damage many times. He had always said it reminded him of your spells, but it's different. He isn't well versed on the subtleties of magic."

"He thinks it's all the same," Loki scoffed.

"Isn't it?" Wanda asked, surprised.

Loki curled his lip in derision. "Of course not. There are different styles of magic, different threads that it could take."

She frowned a little at him, and extended the ball of energy toward him. "And what style is this like, then? I had no teacher."

Of course she hadn't, because these mortals were horrid and atrocious to those unlike them. He knew that kind, having magic himself on a realm that didn't prize male practitioners. It had forced him to be stronger and hoard knowledge, doling it out like a miser with his coins. But Wanda didn't look at him with scorn or hatred, only curiosity. She was irritated with his snide comments and condescension to the skills she possessed, but it wasn't at _him._

That reminded him of Natasha, of the way she casually accepted him and saw him for who he was, danger and all, and didn't think less of him for it.

Perhaps he could actually grow to like some of these mortals.

"It's similar to the _seidr,"_ Loki admitted finally, calling up a ball of his own energy. His was a bright green-gold, looking rather pretty next to hers. "Manipulation magic. Of the mind, of perception, of a limited field of reality," he added at her confused expression.

She leaned in close, interested and eager. "What other kinds of magic are there?"

He was dimly aware that this could be a trap, a way to tie him to his dreadful realm. But he had nowhere else to go, no one else willing to deal with him without wanting to roast him over a spit for his role in bringing Chitauri to the realm. He could look reformed, as if he cared about the people of this place, as if it mattered what Asgard thought of him.

Some distant part of him did care, but no one needed to know about that.

"There is the _seidr,_ of which you are somewhat versed in," he said slowly, nodding at her scarlet ball of magic. "Manipulation. Quick and easy, illusions and the like. They can be undone rather simply, as far as magic goes, for their effects are rarely permanent to start with."

Wanda nodded. "I can't make things last. Even nightmares fade, and only the fear they bring lasts longer than the spells themselves."

"Just so," he agreed, staring at the manifestations of their magic. "The _spá_ is not..." He shook his head and refused to meet her eyes. "Fate. Knowing the ways of the _ørlǫg_ is not in my skill set. To be able to take the _wyrd_ and pull it apart, to weave it and then reweave it into something new without disturbing the universe—"

Her hand came down on his arm. "That is what I saw, when you returned. Not like a cloth or a spider's web, but something similar. Everything spinning out of control..."

"Yes, well," he muttered, nonplused, taking her hand off of his arm. "Only the Norns truly understand it. My mo—Frigga – she had once said she knew all of the _ørlǫgs_ and at great cost to herself. I never knew what she meant by it."

"You didn't ask?"

"She wouldn't say," he corrected sharply.

Sitting very still, Wanda just maintained eye contact. "She had meant to save you pain."

"You never knew her and never will."

"I saw her in your mind—"

Loki snapped and wrapped his hand around her throat. He didn't squeeze, but his breathing was harsh and labored, his heart fluttering in his chest. "Stay out of my mind."

"It was the once," Wanda said, her hands at his wrist. Her scarlet magic had crashed against him, but seemed to splash right off of him ineffectually. "I didn't try to see it, it just happened."

"Never again," he rasped. "It's not your place to see—"

"I don't even understand what I saw!"

Somewhat appeased, he let go of her and scooted a bit away from her. "How could you? You're mortal," he replied, bitterness laced into the haughty tone. "There are none capable of understanding the Void or the mysteries of magic. Why did Thor even want you to try?"

"Because if there's any chance that I can become better, I will take it."

He turned back to look at her, taking in her resolve. "You're little more than a child."

"I am no child. I've lost much and likely will lose even more. All magic carries its cost. I know that. I've felt it."

Pressing his lips together, Loki traced a _hugrunar_ onto Wanda's forehead before she could stop him. His tracing glowed gold before it sank into her skin, and she twitched violently enough that she fell out of her chair.

"What was that?" she asked breathlessly, once she was able to speak.

There was no pleasure in seeing her fragility. Once he might have gloated at it. "I traced a rune that would aid in your thoughts and comprehension."

"Runes?"

"Runes also carry power, and using its magic is a bit more complicated to explain. Think of it as more divination spells or enhancement spells. Protection, giving abilities, healing, that kind of thing. _Galdr_ involves runes as well, but it's chanted in a specific meter. The incantations are done in _galdralag,_ seven lines of perfectly mirrored meter. These spells are powerful, capable of warping reality as you know it, generating storms, conjuring the dead, changing the properties of metal or armor, altering the weather, whatever the caster wants to do. Think of it as a permanent way to exert the _seidr."_

"Your specialty is not impermanent."

"It doesn't mean I don't know how to perform other magicks. It is truly only the _spá_ that particularly troubles me. Mostly because I haven't the patience for it."

Wanda gave him a thin smile. "I suppose we're even now," she said as she pulled herself into the chair. "Magic without warning," she clarified at his blank look.

"What I did was hardly of the same magnitude," he huffed. "Yours was a gross violation of a great many principles and guidelines generally taught to children."

"I had no teacher," she reminded him.

"That much is clear," he told her disdainfully. "I suppose I should teach you, if only to save your pathetic comrades from accidental harm."

"Does it hurt you to compliment others?" Wanda sniffed.

Loki shrugged. "So few deserve it, I wouldn't know."

He could see her shove aside her feelings, hurt though she was, and something inside his chest shivered. Natasha would say he wasn't being _nice,_ that this wasn't a way to balance his ledger or start anew or whatever she would say to him now. Wanda looked as lost as he felt, and perhaps that was the reason why he pushed the globe of bright, golden green magic at her. "Tell me what you see in here. Not now," he added when she opened her mouth to speak. "It's quite complicated, and you haven't the language for it yet. We have to start with that, first."

She frowned. "Language. As in, magic has a language?"

"Of course it does. Do they teach mortals _nothing_ on this pathetic realm?"

"No, they don't."

"Pft," Loki scoffed in annoyance. "And they said I would bring nothing to the realm if I was in charge of it. Clearly, they were mistaken."

"Not many like rule."

"Of course not. It doesn't mean they don't still need it."

"As do the rulers themselves," Wanda said, delicately taking the ball of magic in her hands. "It's all about balance, isn't it?"

Loki scowled at her. Yes, it was. And he was still frightfully out of balance.

***

Entering the mess hall, Loki tried to ignore the feeling of being watched, of knowing that he was the one causing the dread silence to fall over the recruits. It was utterly ridiculous, yet there was the roiling sensation in his gut that was all too familiar. He _hated_ this.

Steve fell into step beside him. "Hey. Nice to see you up and about."

Loki looked at him, feeling suspicious and keeping it from his features. "Oh? Did you expect me to cower in fear, dreading your largesse?"

He blinked in surprise, which made Loki feel like a heel. "Natasha said there were lasting effects from the Norns sending you here. And Odin said the magic that breached the wards on the holding room probably made you ill."

"Oh." Now he really felt like a heel. "I am recovered. Thanks."

Though the words were stilted, Steve still accepted them. "Sounds like Asgardians don't really get sick very much, do they?"

"No, they don't. Injuries from battle are more common."

Steve piled a significant amount of food onto his plate, unconcerned by the glances Loki gave him. "Fast metabolism," he explained.

"Your appetite rivals that of Asgardians."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Steve said with a smile.

"I suppose you're friends with Thor."

"As much as anyone else is, I guess."

Loki looked at him then, somewhat startled. He hadn't expected Steve to be just as guarded as he was, and would have thought all of the mortals looked on Thor as a god. "Is he merely a fellow combatant, then?"

"Do you think you could only spend time with someone that's a best friend?"

He frowned at Steve, and was aware of the contrasts between the two of them. Steve was well formed, blond, easygoing and trusted. Yet Loki didn't feel threatened, as if he could only ever be in Steve's shadow. "Isn't that the way of it here?"

"Huh." Steve nodded over to one of the tables near the massive plate glass windows overlooking the lawn. "I think neither of us has a good idea of what the others' world is like."

Frowning, Loki followed Steve and sat near him. "Asgard is the shining pinnacle of Yggdrasil. It protects the other realms."

"Uh huh," Steve replied, not sounding terribly impressed by that pronouncement. "For a price. It always comes with a price," he added at Loki's surprised expression. "Nothing is ever free. There's a saying in economics, from what I've heard. It's just common sense, though. People have to be useful. There's got to be something to do. Someplace to belong."

Loki was uncomfortable with how familiar that felt. "Surely it isn't so in Midgard? Thor spoke so highly of Midgardians."

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes. "People are people. Doesn't matter where they're from. Some think they can bully others just because they can. Some feel they're above what's right. That they decide what's right." He gave Loki a pointed stare. "Sound familiar?"

He didn't even bother to pretend that he couldn't catch the undercurrent in Steve's words. "The people hardly have to fear occupation or rule. They have you looking out for their interests."

It was odd to see a flash of irritation cross Steve's expression. He seemed so calm and stoic all the time, the very opposite of Thor.

"Odin put you here. He said the only sentence you should have gotten was death, that we're being too lenient with you. Are we?" he asked flatly.

Those earnest eyes and stern expression put more guilt into Loki's heart than all of Odin's bluster and shouting. "I have no desire to die," he said quietly. "Or to harm this realm."

"So what do you want?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. The syllables felt odd on his tongue, and his lips felt almost numb from the effort of forming them.

Steve nodded thoughtfully and started to tuck into his lunch. "You and I are going to hit the stacks after this." At Loki's blank look, he began to explain. "Library. I think we have entirely wrong ideas about each others' worlds, for all that Thor tried to link our library with the Asgardian Archive. We're not going to ever be able to move forward if we don't know where we're coming from."

Loki's throat closed uncomfortably. The soup and salad he had selected for lunch, so paltry in comparison to Steve's bountiful meal, tasted like ashes and dust.

 _It always comes with a price,_ Steve had just said. _All magic comes with a price,_ Wanda had told him earlier.

He could almost hear Natasha's words. _Do you really think the Norns would have sent you here if you were unworthy?_

"You want to do that," Loki found himself mumbling. "You want to understand."

Steve eyed Loki carefully. "Something else different from Asgard, I suppose."

"You would be correct in that."

"There's all kinds of training. I know you're helping Wanda, mostly because none of us knew what else would keep you occupied. But maybe you need to figure out what it is you really want while you're here. You guys live a very long time."

"But you're—"

"Supposed to be dead," Steve said flatly. It wasn't to shock Loki, but truth itself. "Every moment I get is a gift, and I'm not going to throw it away or be ungrateful for it. _Breathing_ is a gift. Never did get that working right when I was a little guy," he explained. "We all have a purpose. We all have a use. There's a reason for us to be here. You need to figure out what yours is going to be."

Steve was right; Asgard was off limits.

***

Feeling sick at heart and as though the core of his very being was one of failure, Loki knocked on the door to Natasha's suite of rooms. He hadn't been there before, and hoped that Natasha wouldn't turn him away. His dress was quite casual, little more than an Asgardian peasant's, with dark trousers of soft material, a forest green button down shirt and shoes that seemed rather dowdy and plain. He missed his gilt armor, the silver and inlaid runes, the wards and knives hidden within the folds of leather and gold. Lacking all of the layers, he felt close to naked, but this was all part of why he was at Natasha's suite.

She opened the door, and he could see that she had paused a film in her sitting room, where she had been sitting alone. A glass of water was at the side table on a coaster, and she had a bowl of popcorn beside it.

The entire suite was done up in whites, creams, blond woods, and the occasional rare mahogany piece that stood out amongst the serene background. Everything was elegantly done, looking as though it was laid out specifically for show. Loki found that he got no sense of _Natasha_ in the room, and that as elegant as it was, it merely comfort and function for her. This wasn't home in the sense that her identity was bound up in the place.

Loki stepped inside her suite without a word. Though Natasha looked at him curiously, she didn't say anything as she closed the door. It was almost as if she could sense his fragile state, that if she said something, it could tip the balance.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and bent his head. "Tsarina," he choked out, closing his eyes. "Please."

Her hand fell to the top of his head, a comforting pressure that sent a chill down his spine. It was yearning and anticipation, not dread.

"Please?" she echoed, curiosity in her voice. "What do you need?"

A place to belong. For her to be his home. For her to love him as he loved her, to crave his touch and want him with her.

"I don't know," he said finally, voice breaking. "But I hunger for it anyway."

Her fingers trailed down to the tips of his ears, then traced the edges of them. Tilting up his head, Natasha looked him in the eyes. "You want the thoughts to quiet. You want the emotions to drain away. It's all right to tell me what you need."

"Is that it?" he asked anxiously, his heart fluttering helplessly in his throat. "Is that how you see it? I don't—this is an itch, a foul sensation, _weakness,"_ he spit.

She moved her fingers to his lips, cutting off his words. "This is a need that anyone would have. A prince wouldn't have been taught to handle it on his own." Loki froze, looking up at her with a stunned expression on his face. "The peace you found with me as your Tsarina, you as my Leikr, that was the calmest you've felt since Asgard, isn't it?"

Loki flinched but nodded. "But even then, I felt it, clawing, knowing I was found wanting..."

"Not by me," Natasha purred, running her nail along the edge of the vermillion border of his lower lip. "The way you bow to me is stunning."

His gut roiled even as something in him took notice and wanted to preen. Loki's breath caught, and he searched her gaze with wide eyes. "Would you be my Tsarina for always?" he asked, voice hoarse and close to breaking.

"Didn't I already say I would be?"

Something like a sob was caught in his throat, and he blinked rapidly. "I need your touch, Tsarina," he whispered brokenly. "I haven't—I don't— _I don't know how to be."_

"I know. And you kneel so prettily." She curled her lip and scratched his, making his breath catch again. His blood hummed in his ears, a haunting sound that seemed right somehow, and his groin tightened. "Your mouth. So beautiful when it's not spitting out lies, when it submits to mine. So ready to be fucked."

Loki leaned closer to her fingers, sweeping it into his mouth and laving the pads with his tongue. He kept his gaze on her, hot and heavy and needy, _wanting,_ hoping she would heap more praise on his unworthy head.

No, wait. She had said he was worthy. The Norns found him worthy of _something,_ even if Mjolnir didn't think it of him.

"Is that what you need today?" Natasha purred. "Not gentleness, is it? You want me to force it out of you, push you down and take what I want from you. You want me to make you submit. You want the struggle, to pull away afterward."

Instead of answering in words, he simply drew more of her fingers into his mouth, sucking on them as if that could give her pleasure.

With her other hand, she grasped his hair and yanked his head back. Removing her fingers from his mouth, she painted the line of his throat with his slick spit. "Say what you want, Loki."

No easy way out for him, then. Oh, how glorious she was, giving him one form of discomfort after another, flaying him with her words.

"I want to be your Leikr. Have me as you did then."

"Have you," she echoed haughtily, nails tracing the wet path down his throat. "As if you could be a passive thing, as if you were just an object, nothing important, nothing with will."

He flinched despite his efforts to be still, and his lips trembled. Clenching his hands on his thighs, he tried hard to repress the urge to strike her. Something in him hurt, and he wanted to lash out to make her hurt as well.

Natasha let go of his hair before he lost control of the urge. "Uh-uh," she admonished, pushing him to the floor with her foot in his chest. "I know that look by now."

Because he'd struck her before, and she wouldn't allow him to pull the same trick twice.

"You're going to participate in this, Loki. You're going to do this of your own free will, because you ask it of me, because you want it, because you need it. You don't hide behind some lame ass excuse. If we do this, we do this honestly."

"I can't—"

 _"You can._ That good conversation we had before? I don't mean it in some kind of soppy romance novel kind of way. I mean that you make choices. That you own up to the consequences of those choices. And that includes what happens between us. Because this thing has to have boundaries. We have to have rules."

"I'll try to break them," Loki whispered, shuddering.

Her smile was vicious and every inch the Black Widow of legend. "And then I'll discipline you. But we lay it out ahead of time."

Hadn't they done this already? But of course, the circumstances were different now. Perhaps her time in bed before was different than this, because now he offered himself to her as a peasant, as a supplicant, and there was no absolution or balm in her touch now.

"I need—" Loki's voice faltered. "I need peace. The thoughts to still. I don't know how to do it on my own, but in your bed, I feel..." Whole. Complete. Fulfilled. "Worthy," he said finally, shame coloring his voice. "I need that."

Natasha's expression softened a fraction, but Loki could still feel the steel at her core. "That's what I needed to hear. I want to know what we're working toward."

"How does that make a difference between us?"

Her nails ran along his cheek, then up to his temple. "I'm going to make you worthy."

His lips parted, and the look he gave her was one of pure desperation. His fists were clenched so tightly he knew he was drawing blood, but couldn't help himself, either. It was easy to make the peasant's clothing disappear with a single word of power, but he faltered at Natasha's request for lube. She took it as ignorance of the concept. If anything, her frank explanation made him even more embarrassed, breath stuttering in his lungs.

"I know of oils and the like. Why would you have need of such things?"

 _Smack._ Her hand came down on his shoulder, a sharp crack that reverberated down his spine. He hadn't expected it and didn't know if he liked the feel of it.

"Yours is not to question. If we cross a line, if you feel uncomfortable, you can make it all stop with just a word. But you don't second guess your Tsarina. You _obey."_

Loki's heart faltered for a moment, something recoiling even as another part of him relaxed in desperate relief. This made no sense. He was a prince; even in exile, he should have his pride and his power, and shouldn't bow to anyone. But he ached so badly, and it hurt so much to keep up the façade, and he knew Natasha wouldn't harm him. She would give him peace. Somehow, she would know how to quiet the tumult in his shivering heart.

Unscented oil materialized beside them, and Loki couldn't even look at it. She had some kind of foul idea, something that sparked the dread inside of him. He reeled when she pushed him down to all fours, when her hand came to rest at the small of his back. Loki could barely even recognize the pained whimpers he was making.

"Tell me your thoughts."

"This is wrong. I can't. This. Princes don't submit like this. I _can't."_

"You are Leikr. You are no prince in this room."

Her voice, so stern and commanding, washed over him. His fingers loosened a bit on her carpet, and his breathing hitched. Still, he was tense and aching. "Tsarina," he whispered, then cringed in shame at the sound of his own agonized voice.

"My Leikr," Natasha purred, hands sliding over the curve of his bare ass. "So delicate like this, so pretty. All mine." For a few minutes, she did nothing but massage his flesh, telling him how lovely he was, how much she was going to enjoy showing him how worthy he was of her touch. In spite of himself, his body loosened and relaxed, eyes falling closed so that he could revel in her touch and sultry voice.

So absorbed in her touch, he didn't even jump when her lips pressed against the small of his back, when she dragged them across his skin and ran her nails lightly over the crease where his ass met the backs of his thighs. Loki moaned when her tongue dipped down, when she licked at the puckered hole. He should have felt shame, right? He should tell her to stop, that he couldn't go through with this depravity, that it was wrong, even for someone like him.

But it felt _good,_ and Natasha would never do something so filthy like this if it was meant to humiliate him. That wouldn't make him worthy of her. That wouldn't show him his worth.

Loki whimpered when her tongue traced the ring of muscle and edged inside a bit. His hands twitched as he tried to hold himself still beneath her mouth. His cock was growing hard, and he could picture her kneeling behind him, red mouth at his ass, literally kissing his ass, breasts bobbing and bouncing as she moved. He wanted to sink into her, wanted to feel her slick heat and hear her throaty moans. All he could hear at the moment was his own rising passion, the soft, helpless noises that meant he was at her mercy.

That was when she used the oil to slide a slicked finger inside him. Loki jerked a bit, surprised, but it didn't hurt. It was an odd feeling, a pressure that he wasn't used to. And then she twisted her finger, hitting something that sent a bolt of sensation all along his spine. He gasped, a strangled moan of pleasure he wasn't sure he should have even made. "What—?"

"Convergent physiology is very interesting," she replied, mouth against one round ass cheek. She crooked her finger again, a twisting motion that had him jerking and pushing back against her finger. "And I think you like it."

Making a strangled noise, Loki didn't even know how to answer that.

"I think you can take another finger," she declared, setting up a steady rhythm of thrusting and rubbing. Her free hand was at his hip, keeping him steady, massaging him in a soothing manner and reminding him exactly where she was. "I think I can fuck your beautiful, greedy ass, and I can make you come just like this, all over my floor. You would lick it all up if I wanted you to, I'm sure. Wouldn't you? If it was something to make me happy?"

Loki made a strangled moan as an answer; he didn't know if he would say yes or no, if there would be guilt or shame involved, if he would feel like some kind of animal for doing such a thing. But he wanted her happy, he wanted her pleased, and his cock was already weeping and dripping onto her carpet anyway.

"You would," Natasha crooned, running her lips and then teeth across the smooth skin of his ass. "If it made me happy, if I wanted you to. You'd let me use you like my fuck toy, then lick it all up and thank me."

He shivered, not sure what to say, but he was so hard and aching and her clever fingers twisted and scissored inside his ass in a way that stole his breath. All he could do was feel, was drown in the sensation of her hands and mouth and voice, oh, that voice, that seductive sound that pulled him deeper and deeper. It was like a spell, a _galdr_ all her own.

With a hoarse shout, Loki came, hips finally stilling. She had been thrusting her fingers into his ass, but he had also pushed back into her shamelessly. He hand wanted her to finish him, to shred the last of his tether to his body.

"Good boy," she crooned, sliding her fingers out of him. "Lie down, Loki," she murmured, running her other hand along his back. "On your side, yes, like that."

Curling on the carpeted floor in front of her, Loki kept his eyes shut and didn't bother to still his ragged breathing. There was the bereft feeling as she withdrew from his side, but he could hear her going to the bathroom to wash her hands. She came back with a warm washcloth, wiping the smears of oil and spent semen from between his legs. Her touch was careful, gentle, soothing, and her lighthearted humming seeming at odds with the filthy way she had made him feel.

No, not filthy. Not in a worthless or soiled way, as if he was no more than dirt beneath her feet, but as someone she was able to share her dirty fantasies with. That he held a piece of her that no one else did, that he could satisfy this odd, dark need of hers as well as she could satisfy his. He might know what the name for this was, or why the feeling rose so hard and fast inside of his chest, but she knew how to tame it. She could bring him stillness and peace. She cut him down to size so artfully, leaving him still whole and able to rise again.

Her teeth grazed the skin of his shoulder as she curled up behind him, making him feel protected and precious at the same time. The messes he had made throughout his lifetime seemed so paltry and unimportant at the moment. There was her touch and her presence and her regard, perhaps even her love.

She made him worthy with every moment she cradled him close.

"I make you feel this," she purred into his ear. "I give you pleasure and peace and belonging," she said, running her fingers along his side before grabbing hold of his hip. "You belong to me, Loki. You're mine. Never forget it."

"I don't want to," he admitted, his voice little more than a sigh.

"Your magic is mine. Your mind is mine. All of you belongs to me." Her voice was firm, pitiless and just what he needed. It curled around his consciousness, pushing away his doubt. "I don't take on worthless things, Loki. I don't keep broken tools. I take care of my weapons. I hone their edges. I keep them sharp and ready to strike."

"I am your weapon, then? Is that how you see me?"

Why didn't that hurt?

Natasha chuckled. "It's one way of looking at it. I don't see you as an object, not really. But people can turn themselves into weapons."

"Tools."

"That has so many meanings, and some of them aren't very good," she said, humor in her voice. "I don't like the term very much unless I mean someone is disposable. But I don't dispose of my weapons, not when they can save my life and the lives of others. A good assassin takes care of them, because they'll take care of her. Don't doubt the value of a well-placed weapon, Loki. Though that's a lesson you've always taken to heart."

Yes, it was. But it didn't sting him to know that she knew that.

"You want a place. A home. Belonging. Well, you belong to me. You do what I want. It's as simple as that. There's nothing else to think about, nothing else to confuse you. Just keep pleasing me, and I will make sure you are _very_ well rewarded."

Loki nearly turned in her arms, but the lassitude in his limbs was too much to overcome at the moment. "How else may I be rewarded, Tsarina?" he asked softly.

"What do you want?"

"To taste you," he murmured, sounding almost sleepy to his own ears. "Be inside you, fill you." He groaned a little as a bolt of desire shot straight to his groin. "I want to hear you call my name in pleasure, and know I pleased you."

He could feel her smile against his shoulder. "I can work with that."

Loki almost wanted to say he loved her, that he adored her, that it was more than simple fleshy desire and lust. For her, he could be _good._

"You see, Loki? I can give you rewards for good behavior. For doing as I ask of you. Without complaint, without snide comments to the others, without feeling as though you have to prove yourself better. You're a lost prince, but I'm a Tsarina. I'm your Queen."

"My Queen," he murmured with a smile.

"Exactly. No more of this feeling sorry for yourself bullshit. I'll let you know if I ever get tired of this, if I ever think you're unworthy of my attention. Do not _ever_ second guess me or what I set out to do. Got it?"

His magic curled around them, a warm whisper that made it feel as binding as a blood oath. "Got it," he promised. Now he opened his eyes and turned in her arms, the better to face her. His heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm, his chest didn't hurt, his breaths were easy, his limbs were loose and he wanted to close his eyes and sleep on her floor. "I pledge myself to you."

She smiled, a warmth he didn't think he would ever have earned from her. "So stay a while."

So they wound up on her couch, with him lying curled up on it, his head in her lap. The ice had completely melted down, and the popcorn was cold. A whisper of magic had everything restored to their original state when he had first arrived. Her hand in his hair, stroking it and occasionally brushing along his cheek and shoulder, was lulling. It didn't even matter what she was watching, or that she restarted it from the beginning so that he could keep track of the plot and not feel lost. That was a courtesy he didn't need. The movie didn't register because that wasn't the important part of the evening.

He _belonged._ His magic didn't make him less than, didn't mean he was useless and had to hide his strongest assets. None of these foolish mortals cared about the Jotun heritage, or cared that Asgardians saw him as monstrous and vile. They cared about his actions, about what he was trying to do. He was wanted for who he was, what he could do, what he could be. Just existing didn't make him an outcast on this realm.

A touch of magic, and he would always feel whole here.

The End


End file.
